"Well, now," he breathed. "I've never seen that happen before…"
A curl of pale smoke drifted up from the pan where the fiery oak had been. Jocelynn leaned forward and peered into the oil. The twig was gone. The leaves were gone. Only a few flakes of grey ash floated on the surface, and even the golden hue the leaves had lent to the oil had faded, leaving it as dark and dull as any other quenching oil.
"Hmpf," Erkembalt said.
Erkembalt took the tongs from her hands and lifted the dagger out of the pan. The blade was black with scale, just as it had been before. But in a few places where the scale had cracked and flaked away, Jocelynn caught a glimpse of the steel beneath. It wasn't the cold, grey silver she'd expected. It had a faint, warm glimmer to it, a hint of red and gold, like the last light of a setting sun.
